


Kickball (Peter Parker X Reader)

by Miss_Union_Jack



Category: Marvel, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Cute, F/M, Fluff, Mutual Pining, fix it fic for my life, kickball sucks, peter's a sweetheart, stan lee cameo (he's dressed as a woman though), you're both lovable dummies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 12:49:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4138206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Union_Jack/pseuds/Miss_Union_Jack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You suck at kickball and Peter is an awesome friend. Just a short fluffy thing I wrote to make myself feel better about my life!!  ((:</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kickball (Peter Parker X Reader)

“I hate kickball.” You murmured, your words barely audible as you buried your head in Peter’s chest.

“Me too.” He said comfortingly, rubbing your back before pushing you in front of him. “C’mon, kiddo, you got this.” He smiled encouragingly, flashing you a thumbs up.

“You’re like two months older than me, you can’t call me kiddo!” You argued before turning your attention to the ball.

The over achiever in your gym class rolled the ball towards you and you kicked it with the side of your foot, watching it sail into the air. It landed right in someone’s arms, and you cheered slightly (you didn’t have to run, score!), before turning around to go to the end of the line.

You, somehow (seriously, you had no idea how), tripped over your foot and landed on the dirty gym floor with a dull thud. You heard snickers from some of your classmates and you felt your face flush, cursing your __s/c__ skin.

“You okay, __y/n__?” You heard Peter ask gently and you shook your head.

“Nope. I’m staying here for the rest of eternity.”

Peter chuckled, moving in front of you and sticking out both hands to help you up. You reluctantly took his hands and let him pull you to your feet, walking back to the end of the line as Peter moved into the kicker’s position.

“Knock ‘em dead!” You cheered, and you were thankful for the blush that was already coloring your face when Peter turned to look at you and winked.

Peter then looked back at the ball and kicked it with a great deal of force, right into the chest of the guy who had rolled the ball towards him. He stumbled a little bit, not in serious pain, but a bit of discomfort, and you had to bite your lip to hold back your laughter.

Regardless, the guy caught the ball and Peter was out, moving to the back of the line with you. He was grinning.

“Peter Benjamin Parker, you didn’t have to do that.” You said, shaking your head in mock disbelief (the fond smile on your lips kind of ruined the effect).

He shrugged sheepishly. “I know.”

You glanced away from Peter momentarily (he was your best friend, but he was still stunningly attractive and it was hard to look directly at him sometimes), gazing down at your legs.

It was then that you noticed your tights had a rather large rip right on the left knee.

You groaned, slapping your palm to your forehead. “I hate gym. And kickball. And Mr. Hahn. So, so much.”

Peter frowned, his eyes following the path to your legs. He noticed the rip and his frown deepened, before he hooked a hand behind your neck and pulled your closer, pressing a light kiss to your temple.

“Look on the bright side, there’s only ten minutes left of this class period.” Peter said, obviously trying to cheer you up.

“That is ten minutes too many.” You said, burying your face in his chest again (unbeknownst to you, Peter’s face was a light cherry color now, as well).

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Peter looked around the Wal-Mart, awkwardly trying to find tights. He was a teenage boy, how was he supposed to know where they were located?

He stumbled into the woman’s clothing section, and upon realizing that they were not in that area, he moved to the women’s underclothes area. He walked through three rows of lacy bras and tiny, barely there underwear (his face stained a vibrant red the whole time) before he, at last, found the aisle of tights.

And oh god, why were there so many different types?

There were thick ones, thin ones, brightly colored ones, dark ones, patterned ones, plain ones, and that was just the beginning.

Thankfully, Peter knew that the pair you had ripped was a simple, black pair (he only knew that because he stared at your legs when they were wrapped in those tights way more than he, as your best friend, should’ve), or he would’ve spent all day trying to figure out which pair was the most similar to your ruined ones.

He grabbed the ones that he thought were your size off of the rack (as well as something that he knew you had been wanting) and walked over to a checkout counter, waiting patiently in line until it was his turn.

The cashier, a friendly looking old lady with sunglasses on (for some odd reason), eyed him oddly as he placed both items on the conveyer belt, and Peter ducked his head away from her questioning gaze, digging around in his pocket for his wallet.

“Present for your girlfriend?” The cashier finally asked, a knowing smile on her lips.

Peter blushed as she rung up his purchase, mumbling a “She’s not my girlfriend” before handing her a twenty and a ten dollar bill. The cashier shook her head, handing him his change and putting the tights in a bag.

“Not yet, dear, not yet.” And then she winked at him, shooing him out of the store before he could argue.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Ghostbusters theme song suddenly started playing from your phone, jolting you out of the episode of Supernatural you were currently watching. You clicked pause on your laptop and picked up your phone, a grin splitting across your face.

_To: __y/n___

_Hey, you home? I have something for you :)_

_From: Peter <3_

You texted back immediately.

_To: Peter <3_

_A present??? (and why would I not be home? You’re the only person I ever hang out with :P )_

_From: __y/n___

Peter smiled at his phone, rolling his eyes at you. He sent back a quick “See you soon, kiddo” because he knew it would annoy you, before shoving his phone in his pocket and grabbing the bag that contained your presents (he had gone back to the store and gotten a little gift bag for the items the next day).

Aunt May’s apartment was only ten minutes away from your parent’s apartment, so Peter was knocking on your door before you had even bothered putting on pants (it was late May and your room was hot, so you were wearing fairly short sleep shorts).

You decided that it wasn’t that big of deal, you and Peter used to go swimming together all the time when you were younger, so you simply closed your laptop and left your room.

You threw open the door, exclaimed “Petie!”, and tackled Peter in a hug before Peter even had time to come in the door.

Peter chuckled and wrapped his arms around you, returning the hug without complaint.

“You know I saw you two days ago, right?” Peter asked, his words muffled by your hair.

“I know.” You answered, before shrugging. “Is it a crime to want to hug my best friend?”

Peter shook his head, pressing a kiss to your hairline and breaking the hug. “Not at all. Now,” Peter shook the bag in front of you, reminding you that it was there. “Presents?”

You nodded excitedly, before your smile drooped. “I feel bad though, I don’t have anything for you.”

“The gift of your friendship is enough for me.” He said, and the grin on his face let you know that it really didn’t matter that you didn’t have a present for him.

“How do I get lucky enough to have you as a best friend?” You questioned, finally taking the offered bag with a soft smile.

He smiled sheepishly, unable to formulate a proper response because of your kind words and distractingly bare legs, and gestured for you to open the bag.

You did as Peter asked, grinning as you pulled out a pair of tights.

“Peter,” You started, shaking your head in disbelief that he had remembered that you had ripped your tights and, even more so than that, actually did something about it. “I love you. So friggin’ much.”

“I love you too.” Peter said and tried to ignore the way his heart flip flopped at your words. _Calm down, Peter._ He thought, mentally scolding himself. _It’s not like she’s never said that to you before._

You looked back in the bag, completely oblivious to Peter’s inner turmoil, and were surprised to see that something else was inside. You put your hand back in and extracted a blue shirt with a cartoon drawing of the vigilante known as Spider-Man.

Peter knew that you were a big fan of what the hero was doing, as were a lot of people in New York, so he knew that you would appreciate the shirt (plus, you didn’t know that he was Spider-Man, and he liked the idea of you wearing a shirt that had him on it, sue him).

“Oh my god, Peter! This is awesome!” You gushed excitedly, throwing it on over your tank top and missing the shy smile that crossed his face. The shirt fit perfectly and you grinned again, and then, without thinking, you leaned forward and tilted your head, gently pressing your lips to Peter’s.

Peter made a sound of surprise in his throat and you started to pull away, but were stopped by Peter’s hands flying to your cheeks, keeping your lips pressed against his as he started to kiss you back.

The kiss was awkward, Peter’s glasses kept almost crashing into your eyes and your nose bumped with his every time one of you moved, but by the time you broke the kiss, you were both grinning.

Peter pushed his glasses up with his index finger and his smile softened before he spoke, a teasing note in his voice. “If that’s the thanks I get for getting you a shirt, I should’ve been buying you all your shirts for years.”

“Petie, you would’ve never been able to afford my addiction to t-shirts. Do you have any idea how many Walking Dead shirts I own?” You asked, raising an eyebrow at him.  
He shook his head.

“Good. Let’s keep it that way.” You said, shaking your head with a grin, and because you could now, you raised yourself up on your toes and pecked his nose and both corners of his mouth, before finally planting a kiss square on his mouth.

The noise of agreement that spilled out of Peter’s mouth encouraged you, and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, running your fingers through his brown hair and tugging lightly on the strands at the nape of his neck.

Peter groaned and moved his arms to your waist, pulling your body closer to his. That went on for a solid twenty seconds before you finally pulled away, a soft, gentle smile on your lips.

“I love you. And before you ask, no, not platonically.” You murmured, still carding your fingers through his hair.

Peter grinned and kissed your forehead. “I love you too. Also not platonically.”

“You know,” You started, breaking out of the embrace and grabbing his hand before pulling him into your room. “I think I might actually kind of like kickball.”

You had to kiss Peter again to muffle the sound of his ridiculously loud (but extremely adorable) laughter (you couldn’t let your neighbors file a noise complaint, could you?).

End. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Spider-Man, Marvel, or any if its characters, all rights go to their rightful owners. I also do not own anything mentioned in this story (The Walking Dead, Wal-Mart, etc.), all rights go to their rightful owners. I apologize for any spelling and/or grammatical errors. 
> 
> Also posted on my DA account, so hopefully no one thinks I'm stealing from myself!!


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